Endings
by Abigail-Nicole
Summary: Yes, I remember love. I remember coming back to her when she looked up at me and didn't know who I was.' DG


Endings

I hated sad endings. 

Every time something made me cry, I would go back and relive it, watch the movie again and again, read the same book over and over, until I could read it and feel nothing. It felt good, good to cull out that weakness so I could feel nothing. Then I would stare out the window and feel so empty inside, hating myself for culling out the tears, trying to cry but unable to. 

I always managed to ruin things for myself, ruin all the endings, happy or sad. I hated emotion, hated the weakness that came with it, loathed those who were weak in their emotion, who had no control. I envied them. I, Draco Malfoy, what do I care for hate or love either? Hate is a useless pursuit, the fire that burns your identity away until there is nothing left but a desire for revenge. Love; love exists to weaken us, to pull us down and taunt us, bringing upon us the lowest level of despair and humility and destroying the human spirit so we don't even care. I will not be burned away or brought down.

Not by her. Not by anyone.

I remember love. Standing by my Master's side in black robes, watching a person I once knew plead on her hands and knees for him to spare her husband, tears running down her face, her bushy hair tangled and matted with blood, begging, grovelling like a worm, offering service, offering her life. Her name was Hermione Weasley. 

I remember love. I remember her looking into my eyes, her hand on my cheek, looking beautiful in the dim firelit room, her hair a halo around her face, her eyes so full of warmth and love and tenderness. "Why are you so cold?" she had asked me softly, and I could not answer her. I remember her face as she rolled on the ground, screaming in agony, eyes wide open yet unable to see anything but the horrors inside her own mind, so tortured by my Master that she had shut herself off from reality.

Yes, I remember love. Walking into her cell, taking her gently and stroking her hair, feeling her quiet broken sobs, and feeling warm for the first time in my life. I remember coming back the next day when she looked up at me and didn't know who I was.

Love is cruel. Love is a knife, twisting in your heart, pulling you down then laughing at you as it cruelly pulls away everything that ever mattered. Days are turning into weeks, now, and I haven't gone back to see her. I used to see her every day, go into her cell and sit by her, stroking her hair. Sometimes she would smile at me, lean against me, but she never knew who I was. Some days she would scream at me, sobbing and screaming for me to leave her alone, that I should be dead. But those days aren't the worst. 

The worst days are the days she doesn't even realize I'm there. She sits, staring straight ahead, and she is beautiful, beautifully flawed and cold. I stroke her hair and kiss her neck and face and lips and she doesn't even notice me, staring straight ahead, locked in her world. 

Look at what love has done for me.

I remember the war, remember standing by my Master's side at the moment of his defeat, staring into Harry Potter's face, and I remember that he was tired. Once, I hated him. But on that day, I couldn't feel anything as I looked at him, and he looked at me the same way. 

She meant the world to us both. 

With her gone, there were no longer walls between us. It was the same grief.

Azkaban doesn't have the same sting it used to, in the 'good old days'. There are no dementors now, no dementors to take away the torment of the happy memories I have, and I want them to be gone. Every happy memory I have has two more bad ones to take its place. It's not worth the heartbreak. I don't want to hear her say she loves me if I can remember her face as she stares at me, looks into my eyes, and tells me she doesn't know me. 

Dementors don't discriminate. They take away the happy memories, and at least then there is nothing to taunt you, nothing to make you feel like the worthless piece of shit that you are. They talk about bad memories; most bad memories, for most people, are not their fault. Harry Potter--anything bad that he had ever done had happened to him. Not like me. All my bad memories are self-inflicted, and I don't think I will go to Hell when I die, for it is already here, inside my mind.

Time is not what it used to be, here. I used to be angry, to hate those who put me here. I used to feel like I loved her. I used to watch sad movies and cry. But I haven't cried for weeks, or maybe it's been years. Things blend here, and if any conscious thoughts still haunt me, I can't feel them. I haven't felt anything for a long time now.

I don't think I ever will again.

* * *

**Disclaimer:** All characters belong to JK. The 'I, Draco Malfoy, what do I care for hate or love either' line comes from _I am Morgan le Fay_ by Nancy Springer. 

Inspired by _Fairytales_, truly the best story I have read, by drama-princess. 


End file.
